


Hypocrisy

by Beap



Series: His Son's Destiny [6]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Heavy Angst, M/M, Mental Toil and Struggle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-01
Updated: 2011-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-16 19:24:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beap/pseuds/Beap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are just ordinary people, fallible and flawed.  And being ordinary people, Arthur, Gaius and Gwen find themselves abandoning Merlin, who is engaged in a secret life or death struggle with Uther.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hypocrisy

Arthur fought the urge to squirm. Like a large gooseberry stuck in his gut and causing him pain, he stiffened in his council chair. Embarrassed as well as vexed, he thought the same public indignity was happening entirely too often. In his private chambers, he found the situation amusing and even endearing but not on the training field or mission with his knights or now, in court council.

With his periphery vision, Arthur discerned his father's bewildered furrow and Morgana's self-righteous smirk. Standing before them in the council hall, Gaius raised a quizzical brow, Guinevere angrily glared, a few whispered to each other while many more pretended that they didn't notice.

Notice Merlin, that is.

Standing nearer to the prince in the crowded semi-circle, Merlin constantly blushed. An uncontrollable grin constantly lifted his telltale cheeks and constant, too, his sideway glances at Arthur while trying not to look at him told the room even more. Days after the startling kisses, Merlin still struggled to control his emotions.

Arthur knew that he couldn't fault Merlin, although Merlin clearly caused the chaos, whispers and awkward stares. To be fair, Arthur blamed himself. His heartfelt apology, meant only to atone for his brutality, had gone completely awry.

Uther had seen enough of their grinning, blushing and vexed gooseberries. He bellowed, "The council is dismissed!"

Arthur quickly stood and stalked out as Camelot's subjects instantly parted to let him leave. Humiliated to exasperation, he paced the winding corridors with Merlin rushing at his heels and apologizing, “I'm sorry, Arthur. It won't happen, again. I promise…”

Once in his chambers, Arthur slammed his door shut behind Merlin, grabbed him by the arm and whirled him around. “You idiot! Will you stop blushing at me!”

“I’m sorry," he apologized, again. "But it just happens, every time that I look at you, now.”

“Then, stop looking at me,” he insisted but his own idiotic order faded his anger. With a heavy sigh, he circled his table and flopped in a chair. “Merlin, what are we going to do about this,” he asked, looking up at him when suddenly he felt his gooseberry wedge tighter. Fighting the urge to squirm, again, he saw Merlin standing across the table and staring down at him while grinning and blushing, once more. “Will you stop that," he shouted. "Will you simply forget that I kissed your,” he refused to say, "ass."

Merlin gave a little pout. Unable to control his emotions, yet again, his grinning and blushing faded into sadness to hear Arthur regret his feathered kisses. “So, you didn’t mean it,” he uttered.

Exasperated, again, Arthur glared up at him. "Don't be ridiculous! Of course I meant it! But I didn't mean for you to tell all of Camelot! That was a private matter! Between us! Now, everyone's wondering, not to mention, imagining, just what I’ve done to leave you blushing like a love-struck girl!”

“I’m sorry," Merlin uttered, again.

“Did you see my father’s face,” he winced, to remember.

"I’m sorry,”

"Or Guinevere's!"

"I'm sorry,"

"Or Morgana's! Even Gaius', for heaven's sake!"

"I'm sorry,"

“Say that again and I'll punch you in the other eye," he threatened. Although Arthur threatened, he felt relief to see that the first eye had completely healed. He saw the sultry little pout, too. In his relief, he stood and started circling the table. “On second thought, punching you might not be such a bad idea. I wager, I can knock that blush off.” Instead, a knock on his door interrupted their plan for a quick battle of bump and grind to take the awkward council from their minds. Both disappointed, Arthur shouted, “Come!”

Sir Bors rushed in. Halted by the prince’s irritated face, he stammered, “um, my lord, um, the king requests your presence back in court. A witch has been apprehended, in the lower town.”

When Arthur and Merlin arrived, Uther still sat in his council chair. A peasant girl sat on her haunches on the stone floor, near his feet. No more than fifteen, she seemed frightened to near listlessness. Merlin’s eyes instantly fixed upon the small, ragged and malnourished girl. He could not help but think of Freya. However, the resemblance ended there. This girl, Dreslah, she later said her name was, had dirty corn-silk hair and weak blue eyes. Merlin imagined both sparkling under lesser trial and tribulation.

Uther was asking an old, balding and pudgy baker, “and you witnessed this girl using witchcraft?”

“Yes, my lord. In the lower town market," he spoke with a rhythm of continuous head bows while clutching his apron, matted with bits of crusty dried dough. "One of my delicious sweetcakes just floated from my stand and around the corner. I followed my cake right to her, sire. She had it raised to her lips, ready to take a bite. So, I cried out, ‘stop!’ Just then, one of your fine knights happened by. He heard my cry and seized her, on the spot." The baker then held out his apron tail and revealed a piece of stale, shriveled bread, presenting it as evidence. "This is my delicious sweetcake that she stole, sire."

Uther stood and circled the girl. “Do you deny this,” he demanded, glaring down at her.

She crouched lower, pleading for understanding. “My lord, I was hungry.”

No understanding was given. Uther barked louder that he had to clarify his words. “Do you deny that you are a witch," he angrily rephrased.

“A witch? Oh, no, my lord," she insisted her innocence. "It was just a trick. For food. The winter is coming and there are no more flowers to sell.”

Arthur fought pity. Standing at a distance, he asked, almost meekly, “where is your family, child?”

She hesitated, more frightened to get them involved.

Her hesitation made Uther shout, again. “Answer him!”

“We, we,” she stuttered, flinching from his shout, “we fled from Mercia. Slave traders was raiding all the farms, there. When we learned of your law against magic, we had no more food or money to go elsewhere. Father said that he was lucky to find work in the gristmill. He said, for just a little while. He said, that I must try to survive on my own, to protect my brothers and sisters. He said, just until he could save enough money for us to leave Camelot.”

Uther had all the evidence that he needed. “Your own father cast you out as a witch. That, and the baker's testimony is proof enough. Tomorrow, you will be burned at the stake.”

The girl screamed. Uther started leaving. Over her shrieks and yells, he ordered his guards, “take her to the dungeons.”

As they dragged her out, she wailed while begging him, “Please, my lord! I am not a witch! It was just a trick, for food! Please! I beg you! Have mercy on me! Please! Show me mercy…”

**

For food, she had risked her life. Merlin stole away to the dungeons with Arthur’s untouched midday tray as his guise. Spending as much time as he dared to linger, he conversed with the girl and then he galloped from the city. Once secluded in a distant clearing, he turned his face toward the sky and shouted his summoning words.

The great dragon soon landed. “What now, young warlock,” he asked the reason for the summon.

“A young sorceress, who calls herself Dreslah. What do you know of her,” he insisted on information. 

Kilgharrah huffed. “I do not profess to know every Tom, Dick and witch in the land. What information you seek, perhaps you should ask the girl.”

“I did,” he answered, however, a noticeable fright entered his eyes.

Kilgharrah looked on quizzically while observing his growing fear. “And, what was her reply,” he asked.

"That she has no major powers or training," Merlin said as he paled with anxiety. "Only, a simple telekinesis.”

“Then, your dilemma seems, whether to believe her or not,” but by his own statement, the old dragon suddenly deduced the cause of his fear. “Patience, young warlock," he warned. "Do not challenge Uther. Albion's time is not at hand!”

Merlin swayed his head. “But I can't stand silent and watch him kill her," he insisted. "Not when I'm safe and protected for a greater crime, in Uther's eyes!”

Kilgharrah sighed at his choice. After a moment, he nodded, conceding to the dragonlord’s conviction. "But you must tread carefully," he warned, again. "Uther Pendragon can be a ruthless man."

As Merlin left for his horse tethered in the nearby trees, he felt as though the world's weight had just settled upon his slender shoulders. However, he knew the day would eventually come when he must challenge Uther's hypocrisy.

**

"You, won't allow!" Uther shouted. He leaped from his fireside chair. The blaze in his wake that glowed like his anger, he stalked toward Merlin.

Despite his threatening approach, Merlin stood in the center of his royal chambers and held his ground. "My lord," he said with a bowed head but he insisted, "I won't let you kill her. Her punishment doesn't fit her crime."

Uther stopped inches from his lowered face. He snarled near Merlin's temple. "When you asked my audience, I thought it concerned this blushing nonsense. An apology, no less, I expected from you for disrupting my court! Instead, you dare come to my chambers to tell me how to rule my kingdom!"

"But, sire," Merlin continued to insist. "I'm sure that she poses no threat to you or to Camelot,"

"Silence!" Uther threw up a hand to cancel his protest. “You know, full well, my edict against sorcery!" But as he spoke, he stared at the bowed head. He wondered again the gumption of the undaunted young man. As he wondered, he remembered when Gaius was younger, foolish and angry enough to challenge him, too. But Gaius had no protection against a pyre. This boy, however, carried a mighty axe. His son’s destiny. But still just a gangly boy, Uther concluded, and he sought to intimidate him, too. While gazing at Merlin's temple, he warned, “Be very careful, son, or you will burn beside her.”

Merlin challenged his threat. He looked up with his undaunted eyes. The cold stare made Uther took a step back as Merlin demanded, “what manner-of-man would I be, if I watched her burn and for far less reason than myself, Gaius or Morga,” he stopped. He had said too much. But undeterred, he added, “If Dreslah must face a pyre, then, so must I. In fact, if you kill her for having magic, then you must kill us all.”

“How dare you give me an ultimatum! " Uther shouted, now equally undaunted. "What 'manner-of-king' do you take me!”

Merlin continued to stare at him. "I pray on my life, for one who is fair and just.”

Uther grew outraged. “Do you imply, otherwise!”

Merlin furrowed at Uther. Both knew that he was neither fair nor just. His furrow deepened to recall the constant lies to Arthur, the countless deaths at Uther's hands. His frustration spew from his lips as he said, "It is hypocrisy, to allow us to live while others must die!”

“Hypocrisy,” Uther bellowed back. The word incensed him. He raised his hands with clawed fingers but his son's destiny kept him from strangling the boy.

Merlin stood firm and unwavering. A girl's life was at stake and he said, “Your own edict, you violate. You let people of magic live but only when it suits you!”

To hell with my son, Uther thought, and he grabbed the slender neck. “You ungrateful fool,” he shouted as he squeezed. But staring wildly into Merlin's eyes, he saw no fear in them. Only, a growing anger. Uther suddenly realized that Merlin fought against his own massive means to retaliate. In danger, himself, Uther slowly released his grip. Truth be told and the boy just had, he was a hypocrite. That knowledge made him turn from Merlin. He went back to his fire and while staring into it, he wearily braced his hands against his mantle. “Damn you,” he said, in his defeat. “Get from my sight!”

****

Near dusk, two wagons laden with wood clattered on the cobblestones, echoing in the courtyard. Hearing the noise, Arthur went to his window and watched until the final logs were in place. Sweat beaded and dried across his brow several times as he continued to stare at the moonlit pyre, long after the wagons had gone.

The sound of his door opening made him jump and turn toward it. “Where in hell have you been,” he demanded to know.

Merlin had just regained enough composure to enter but he instantly paled again as he whispered, “Arthur.” He then rushed to comfort him.

“Merlin," he groaned as he burrowed his forehead into his shoulder. “She's just a child. Please, tell me that this isn’t happening. Not, again. I can’t kill another. Not another child.”

“Arthur, Arthur,” he pleaded he listen. “I’m sure that your father will understand. Request that he have Sir Leon or Sir Tomas or someone else oversee the execution,”

“And risk a coward’s label," he demanded while lifting his face to gaze upon him. "They know nothing of the Plains. How can I rule men required to do something that I cannot. My father already lacks confidence in me,” he admitted and pitifully lowered his forehead to his shoulder, again.

“Then, let Uther kill her," Merlin blatantly said. "He’s the one who condemned her to die!” At the same time, he threatened to buckle under the weight on his own shoulders. His thoughts divided, one mind beseeched the heavens that there would be no execution. His other mind was terrified for them all, including Arthur, who may now have to oversee four.

Both in need of an unconscionable relief, Merlin guided them toward the bed. Taking no time with clothes, they instantly warred, fighting for a thigh to grind against or for tongue entry, seeking dominance in a desperate battle to win reprieve from their fears, if only for a little while.

With Arthur eventually finding reprieve in sleep, Merlin rose and went to the kitchens. He loaded a tray, aware that Arthur had not eaten since breakfast. Half the food, he took to the dungeons. As best he could, he tried to comfort Dreslah, too.

****

For hours, Uther sat in his chambers sipping wine while watching embers die. Left muttering to himself, he said, "This boy grates on my last nerve. A servant, who throws a gauntlet at me and issues a challenge! An ultimatum! Kill my own daughter, he insists. Kill my oldest friend and confidant. Kill my son’s destiny, along with himself. Youth’s idealistic martyrdom speaks in this boy,"

Uther's manservant came to stoke his fire but he waved him away. “Later, for that,” he ordered and resumed his mutter. "But the world is not so black or white, young Merlin. You dare to call me a hypocrite. Yet, what hypocrisy will spill from your lips if denied the love of someone so dear, as I was denied Igraine's. Like all men, what weakness do you possess that will crumble that youthful pride,"

A second time his manservant came. Uther waved him away again and continued to devise his plan. "No servant, warlock or not, will ever tell me how to rule my kingdom. Fortunate for me, your adolescent blushing leaves me with no doubts that you care a great deal for my son. Denied your reason to blush, how long before you yield? Forced to face enough hardship, how long before you come crawling to me with apology? In the end, we may both see if this righteous, manner-of-man that you claim is honorable enough to face his own hypocrisy."

Again, his manservant came. Uther allowed him to stoke his fire this time, before ordering, “fetch me my son and then disturb me no more.”

****

As Arthur entered, Uther noted his haggard and defeated appearance. “Son, are you not well,” he asked, concerned.

Arthur hesitated while he reconsidered Merlin’s advice. Still a cowardly act, he concluded, and he could not afford to diminish himself further in his father's eyes. “I’m fine, my lord,” he said.

Uther nodded, beckoning him toward a fireside chair. “I’m afraid that you won’t like what I’m about to say. But for the good of Camelot, I must say it.”

Already haggard and defeated, Arthur became alarmed, as well. Wary to speak, he asked, “You must say what, father?” An offered chalice alarmed him more. Uther had never afforded him the honor. Not in his private chambers. Arthur feared the matter must be grave.

“It concerns your manservant,” Uther said.

“Oh," he exhaled. "What has Merlin done, now,” he asked sarcastic when suddenly he winced. Of all the trivial and idiotic things, not the blushing matter, he thought, now anticipating the conversation. He certainly did not expect to hear from his father’s lips, "Arthur, I owe you an apology. At your expense, I afforded Merlin too much familiarity. I can only hope that my constant conversing to the point of offering him this very chair you sit and the very wine you sip didn’t contribute, too significantly, to your recent anger.”

Arthur was stunned. His father had always said that kings never apologized. It was a sign of weakness. Nevertheless, Arthur sat basking in his father’s weak and fragile words. He could actually sense them healing his old jealous wounds.

All the while, Uther picked cunningly at his son's scabs. “Merlin is a bright, honest and loyal young man," he admitted. "Such qualities are rare and yet, these same qualities have caused us, both, to err. I've given him too much fondness and you, too much intimacy. These public blushing displays attest to that. For the good of Camelot, I find it wise that we now sever all ties with him."

Arthur grew distraught and he momentarily closed his eyes.

But his son's destiny prompted Uther to add, "At least, until he learns a servant's place, once again.”

A lesson that Arthur knew Merlin had never or would ever learn, nor did he wish him to. Merlin was his unparalleled companion, his unmitigated friend, who would willingly die in his stead. However, jealousy was indeed a monster. Arthur yielded to his wishes that he might regain his father's esteem and his rightful status as his true 'son.' He asked, "how long must Merlin be punished," aware that he conceded to his own jealous hypocrisy.

"I'll inform you when the situation is resolved to my satisfaction," Uther announced.

Arthur stood, leaving. Haggard, defeated and now distraught, he went to dismiss Merlin and when he needed him the most.

*****

The next morning started out well enough for Gaius. Merlin joined him at the breakfast table and within moments, Gaius' world crumbled.

“…Merlin, I deserve better from you,” Gaius pleaded for the truth. “Half of Camelot knows that Arthur is forbidden a woman. Being his manservant, many already assumed that he bedded you and long before you confirmed it with this silly blushing. Now, to tell me that blushing is the reason that you’ve been dismissed is simply absurd.”

"But Gaius, that’s the reason Arthur gave me,” he continued to evade.

“And we both know that it’s a lie! Arthur would never dismiss you for such an idiotic reason, unless,” he stopped and stared across the table at Merlin with fright creeping into his aged eyes. “Unless Uther demanded it. Merlin, what have you done,” he now insisted upon the truth.

Merlin remained silent. He felt too frightened to give Gaius the truth. Uther was already incensed. The king's wrath would be swift, if others learned that a servant issued him an ultimatum.

His silence caused Gaius to stand from the table. Pacing to deduce the answer for himself, he said, “You can’t hide the truth from me, Merlin. I know you too well.” Within moments, Gaius concluded, “you’re trying to save that young sorceress in the dungeons, aren’t you?” The creeping fright suddenly glistened in his eyes and he now demanded, “Did you challenge Uther?”

Merlin dropped his head for a moment. He beseeched the heavens again that others did not have Gaius’ deductive skills. He then pleaded for him to understand. "Gaius, someone has to stop his hypocrisy.”

“But at what cost," he demanded. "Your life! Morgana’s! And mine!” Never had Gaius felt so sabotaged. Or, so cowardly. Twenty years, he had watched Uther’s senseless slaughters and most of those years, without a whimper. His Hippocratic Oath, he told himself, prevented him from poisoning the man. In reality, he knew that he hid behind the words, safe and protected, while countless others died. Unable to face his own cowardice hypocrisy in light of Merlin's courage, he said, “I’ll write Hunith that she no longer has a boy but a proud young man, now capable of making decisions and living on his own.” Feeling tired and frightened, he retrieved his medicine satchel and started leaving to make house calls.

Merlin continued to sit, fighting tears. “Gaius, please," he begged again for understanding. "I’m sorry, but what else could I do?”

Gaius stopped in the doorway and gazed back at him. “At the least," he said, "you could have informed me before you decided to dare Uther, with my life.”

****

Uther announced in court council that Arthur's manservant was now an outcast in Camelot. Adamant and forceful in his decree, Uther described Merlin as beneath a leper that no one must give aid, in any way. Most assumed that the king's anger concerned the prince's gross humiliation, the previous day. Uther made it clear that anyone Merlin turned to for help, the servants, commoners and knights alike would face his retribution. 

Guinevere did not fear the king. Yet, she refused to help Merlin. The 'prince's curse' she bore in silence, while convincing herself that Arthur, and thus, Merlin had no choice. Both were virile young men and in the prime of their sexual nature. However, the dreadful blushing exhibition gave her angry and jealous pause. An open affection that Merlin now displayed for Arthur seemed far more than a sexual necessity. Merlin was, by far, her dearest friend and yet she reasoned it an affront to Arthur if she took Merlin in. Faced with her own jealous hypocrisy, Guinevere tried hard to be polite while she denied him shelter. 

Everyone that Merlin turned to, the servants, commoners and knights, alike, all feared retribution if they contradicted the king's decree.

Morgana was simply happy that Merlin was missing from her life. She gave little thought to why.

 

**

 

“Father, the pyre is starting to crumble,” Arthur mentioned, offhand, while trying to disguise his constant anxiety amid the normal dinner conversation. Confused as everyone else, he wondered when would he be required to carry out the devastating death of another child.

Uther spew his standard evasion. “I’ll be busy, tomorrow. Perhaps, the day after," he said. Standard, too, he sought the degree that Arthur missed his manservant. "How is Oswald working out," he asked.

“He's fine, father,” Arthur gave his own evasion. Then picking at his dinner as usual, he thought of Merlin, as usual, while wondering how the crumbling pyre and Merlin's absence were connected, as usual.

****

Weeks passed. Arthur seldom hunted or engaged in his other leisurely activities. All of his free time, he now spent roaming the streets of Camelot. “I must stay in touch with the people I’m to rule,” he often told his father. However, both knew the major reason that he roamed.

Arthur occasionally saw Merlin but watched him from a distance. Each time he saw him, he gasped to see that Merlin had gotten thinner and paler. Every place he knew that Merlin sought shelter… in the stables, the old catacombs beneath the castle, the reservoir tunnels where they killed Nimeuh’s water beast and even in the caverns that once housed the great dragon, the guards somehow found him, as if purposely looking and demanded that he leave the premises.

With winter fully ensconced, Arthur suffered from headaches and insomnia, fretting over Merlin's welfare. At the risk of losing his regained status and father's esteem as his true "son," he knew that he had to help Merlin survive the cold.

Another week passed before Arthur found him, again. In the lower town, few people stirred on the early dawn’s snow-covered streets. Merlin was one of them. Hunched and shivering in his worn clothing, he walked on his morning pilgrimage to peer through the gates and check the pyre. If ever used, he would stage a massive display of sorcery and then herald from every corner of Camelot the king’s hypocrisy.

As they approached each other, Arthur silently gasped and Merlin simply turned his face aside. The chasm between them now an abyss, only their history gave them the courage to stop. Waiting for the other to speak, they found words at the same time.

“I’m sorry that I've distanced you,” Arthur said as Merlin spoke, “I’m sorry that I had to leave.”

They fell silent, again, while trying to decipher their conflicting words. Again, they spoke at the same time. “Then, you know that my father,” Arthur asked, as Merlin stated, “I know that your father,”

Position dictated that Arthur go first. “Merlin, I won’t pretend to know the matter between you and father. He first treats you like a son. Then, he makes you an outcast. But whatever this quarrel, I’m convinced that it concerns the girl in the dungeons.” He stated it more in a request for confirmation.

Merlin's chest pounded beneath his thin clothes but he managed to evade the subject of sorcery. “Arthur, like you said, she’s just a child. My poor body couldn’t withstand you harming another.” He intended it as wit and he gestured at his weight loss. He even managed a smile but his raised cheekbones highlighted his sunken eyes and Arthur failed to grasp the humor.

Arthur grasped instead the underlying meaning of his statement. It made him angry. "Then, it is indeed you who stay the execution," he deduced from his words. "By what means do you control my Father! What do you know of him that I don't!”

Cold and shivering, Merlin looked toward the distance that he still needed to walk. An equal distance entered his eyes.

The expression sparked familiarity with Arthur. It angered him more. “You said, someday, that you’d tell me all about it! Is this what you choose not to confide," he now demanded to know. "Some deep dark secret, which you now use to coerce even a king!"

Merlin took several steps, leaving for the gates. “Arthur, the choice is not mine," he replied while walking away. "It belongs to your father.”

“Merlin, wait.” His tone changed to a plea. Pacing behind, he rambled in his money pouch. “At least, take this,” and he held out a handful of gold coins.

Merlin stopped, turned and stared into his gloved and cupped hand. Tributes to the king, he thought, debasing the tokens.

“Please. For food and proper shelter. Perhaps, in a farmer's home somewhere outside the city and away from the guards. You look like hell,” he joked, but the truth quelled his humor, as well.

Merlin sighed. How low he had fallen, he thought, and for a girl he did not know for sure, her innocence. Holding out his hand to accept the money, he asked, “Dreslah, how is she?” The coins made a noticeable jingle, splattering from Arthur’s trembling hand as they dropped cold into his outreached palm. Merlin looked up into his face but found it turning aside with anger mixed with hurt and confusion. “Arthur,” he uttered.

Arthur had started to walk away, now leaving him, instead.

“Arthur!”

Abruptly, he turned. “Merlin, what do you wish for me to say,” he demanded in his anger, hurt and confusion. “Do you want to hear how proud I am that you have the courage to challenge my father when I do not? Or hear how grateful I am that you’ve kept me from killing another child? Or how the girl should thank you that she still lives? How is she, you ask,” he repeated, angrily, and then he swayed his head at the entire ill-fated affair. "How is she! When left to face a pyre for days upon end! Always fearful that the next day will be her last! Locked away, with no one to comfort her! I’ll tell you how she is! She’s gone mad!”

Merlin slumped as though the world's weight had just crushed his spine. With his shoulders egregiously hunched, he changed directions. Now on a brutal journey, he tread through ankle-deep snow and freezing temperatures with only his magic to fight back the elements. Near midday, he finally reached the secluded clearing. In a coarse and hoarse voice, barely audible, he called the great dragon.

Kilgharrah showed him a noticeable annoyance. “I hope that you have good reason to summon me from my warm cave,” he practically snarled.

Merlin insisted, “You once gave me the power to heal Morgana. I need that power, again.”

The old dragon objected to his demand. “Since you keep injuring the witch, perhaps you should take the hint and let her die.” 

“It’s not Morgana, this time, but the young sorceress, Dreslah. My fight with Uther has lasted much too long.”

“And leaving the girl to suffer,” he surmised. “I warned you to tread carefully."

"I know. And now, I must help her."

"I sorry, young warlock," he spoke with regret. "I possess the power to heal the physical. Not the mental. If so, I would have healed Uther, years ago. I'm sure that he suspected this to happen and perhaps, counted on it. Madness is the reason that he's demands such swift executions. Perhaps, it is wiser, now, to let him have the girl.”

Merlin imagined the horrors of the pyre. Burned alive, screaming while feeling her blood coagulate, jelling inside her body. He uttered one word as he turned, leaving. "No."

****

Uther leaned, reviewing maps of his enemies’ kingdoms when a knock interrupted his solitary concentration. “Enter,” he shouted.

Sir Leon marched into his strategy room, stood opposite his map table and bowed.

“Speak, man," Uther insisted. "What is it?”

“A prisoner, sire, apprehended in the lower town for stealing a piece of bread.”

“A piece," he barked. "You bother me with this, all the while knowing that beggars commit petty crimes in winters to gain shelter in my dungeons. This one must be truly desperate," he reasoned. "Give him my standard three nights and then throw him back out.”

“It’s Merlin, my lord.”

Uther stood upright. “I see,” he said and then he slowly turned and wandered to a row of windows that overlooked the snow-covered training field. Weather halted neither war nor practice and he watched Arthur train a new crop of knights. Gazing upon his son, he started to mutter, again. "Your young Merlin has denied himself your companionship far longer than I expected. But now, he comes in from the cold. He will concede the girl to me, at last, and this travesty will soon end. Finally, I can return to ruling my kingdom as I deem fit and he, to his adolescent blushing." As Uther gazed out the window, he spoke louder. “Has the prisoner requested my audience,” he asked.

Sir Leon stood waiting while staring at the king's back. Confused by his inarticulate mutter and now his louder voice, he stammered, “Um, no, sire.” 

Anger flashed across Uther's face. "Damn it, Merlin," he muttered again, under breath. "Why must you continue this! You should know, by now, that you are not yet wise enough to challenge me. Why force my hand? Now, I must teach you the cruelest of lessons." Still staring out the window, he snapped at Sir Leon. “You have your order!”

“But, sire,” he protested.

“Do you wish to join him in my dungeons," Uther demanded.

“No, my lord,” he answered quickly, bowed and rushed out.

****

Merlin considered himself to be lucky. No other prisoners were in the dungeons. Despite the winter weather, all the cells were empty. The beggars, all anxious to leave, spread their tales to other beggars of the quiet, peaceful nights without so much as a rat stirring when suddenly the sounds came. Inhuman, bloodcurdling screams like specters in the dark, echoing from the stoned walls and sending shivers through their spines. Then, constant wretched moans would begin that drove them to the brink of madness. The dungeons, they said, were haunted.

Word spread, too, that Merlin was now one of the homeless beggars in Uther's dungeons, seeking shelter from the cold. Gaius and Guinevere brought him food, blankets and regret. Arthur, however, was ordered to stay away. Uther insisted that the situation would be resolved very soon and to his satisfaction but he refused to say more. He suspected that Merlin now planned to rescue the girl, since he requested no audience. Through experience, Uther also knew that she was far beyond saving.

His challenge a failure, Merlin no longer hoped to save all innocent people of magic. Just this one. With gold coins in his pocket, he planned to take her to a farmer's house outside the city, like Arthur had suggested that he do for himself. Once the weather broke and he regained his strength, he planned to gather her family and then take them all beyond Camelot's borders. He had gold enough for them to now leave, thanks to Arthur.

A day in the dungeons, Merlin discovered that she was housed in the deepest and most distant cell in the castle. Reaching her would be easy enough, he thought. The guards often abandoned their posts to stay up top. All feared the witch, down deep below.

His plan set and the hour late, the dungeons were quiet and Merlin had not seen or heard a guard in hours. He lay, mustering his courage, when suddenly, the sounds came. Spine-severing screams, they held no hint of human semblance. A crippling fear seized Merlin. The sounds were like haints, attacking him in the dark. He lay trembling while listening to the wails of a lost and tormented soul. By the time the wretched moans came, he lay fetal, completely paralyzed, unable to accept what his noble challenge had become.

Three consecutive nights, he endured her hell while burdening her fate. A burden that he now realized that Uther had purposely given back to the noble, manner-of-man, which he had so proudly professed. In his sick and weakly state, he concluded that all the gold in the world could not buy shelter or a refuge for her mind.

On the third night, Merlin hardened his heart or share her affliction. As he magically opened his cell door and started walking deeper into the darkness, he knew that he was coming face-to-face and would be forever haunted, by his own hypocrisy.


End file.
